Seventeen
Autumn
The last week has been miserable. Well, not completely miserable, but not really good either.
I miss Jonas. A lot. How the hell do you miss someone you barely know? But how do you not miss someone who walked off with a chunk of your heart? Because Jonas definitely took a piece of me with him on the back of his motorcycle. Hopefully bits of my heart aren’t strewn all over the highway.
Although I have a feeling he would never do such a thing.
Clementine asked to set up the Christmas tree and decorate the apartment. The temporary distraction was needed, but only lasted for a few hours. In no time, the tree was up and littered with a mix of homemade and store-bought ornaments. Stockings hung from the far side of the breakfast bar we never sit at. Sporadic glittery Santa’s and elves and snowflakes were spread throughout the living space.
Everywhere you look, there is a splash of holiday cheer. The apartment oozed festive and fun.
Difficult as it has been, I kept a smile plastered on my face. The last thing I want or need is Clementine wondering why or what has me upset. To ask questions I don’t know how to answer. The timing isn’t right. Not yet.
Over the last five days, when I left the shop, I discovered a folded piece of paper under my driver’s side windshield wiper. At first, I was leery. I’d heard stories about criminals who place things on cars to distract the owner before attacking them. With Reznor and Rex close enough to hear my screams, I scanned the lot, took a breath, and plucked each paper from the wiper blade. Then, I unfolded the page and saw who it was from. Warmth instantly spread through my limbs to my chest when I read it.
The first note, on Thursday, was short.
Autumn,
I’m sorry. I miss you.
Jonas
The note said so much with only a few words. Not just an apology. Not just to say he missed me. But to remind me he was still there. And he was thinking about me after everything that happened.
On Friday, the paper on my windshield was bigger, the stock heavier. When I unfolded it, I gasped. Jonas had drawn what I assume was the two of us, curled up on a blanket in the park, watching a movie on the makeshift theater screen. His arm around my waist and body snug against mine. When I showed it to Penny, all she said was “He’s got it bad.”
Saturday, Sunday, and yesterday each ended with another note. Typically, I had two days off during the week. Plus, the shop closed on Sunday. But with everything that happened last Tuesday between me and Jonas, I came into work on my days off. Worked some. Hung out mostly. Even brought Clementine with me on Sunday while I worked on two desperate clients. Although the shop was closed, it was better than sitting at home. Chores only distracted so much of my time.
The other notes were much the same, but each got a little longer. Sweeter. Made me miss him more.
Autumn,
No matter what it takes. No matter how long it takes. I will fix us.
Jonas
Autumn,
The first time I saw you, I forgot how to breathe. How to speak. How to function. But then you smiled and the world righted itself again. Because you make the world, my world, a better place.
Jonas
Autumn,
On our first date, I constantly wanted to hold your hand. Touch your skin. Kiss your lips. But I was raised a gentleman. Raised to respect women and wait until they’re ready.
When I kissed your lips for the first time… I never want to kiss another woman. Never want to taste anyone other than you. Because you’re the perfect mix of everything I have ever wanted. Breathtaking and genuine and funny.
Jonas
I may not have seen Jonas in a week, but he still held my heart in his clutches. Don’t think he will ever let it go. Not that I want him to. If anything, I want him to hold it closer. Longer. More tenderly. I want to hear him whisper the words on these pages—the ones secured in my purse, that go everywhere I go—in my ear. To say all these sweet words with his warm breath on my skin.
With each note I receive, Penny cradles her heart and coos. Begs me to call or text him. Give him another chance. And I want to. God, do I want to. I want his arms around me again. Want his lips on mine again.
But after how I behaved last week, I’m terrified to show my face again. How do I begin to fix this? Fix us. I harbor most of the blame with why we aren’t together. Past insecurities gnaw at my happiness. Tell me romantic relationships aren’t in the cards. So, how do I let Jonas in? How do I introduce Clementine into the mix? This is all so new to me—dating as a grown woman and single parent. The idea of us not working out, of Clementine getting hurt, terrifies me to no end.
Twenty minutes in with my current client—an eighteen-year-old getting her first tattoo—the front door jingles. Automatically, I peek up to see who walks in. The blonde from the bowling alley—Shelly, I think—ambles in with a cheery smile on her face. She glances over at me and her smile glows lumens brighter.
But it isn’t her or her smile that surprises me. No, it would be the bouquet in her hands which has me stunned. Because I know who the arrangement is for and who sent it. Shelly delivers the bouquet to Penny and hangs out at the front desk until I finish the small script tattoo.
After I clean up the girl’s tattoo and give her instructions for aftercare, she pays and leaves.
Now I have to deal with Penny and Shelly. Yay me—insert sarcasm.
“What’s this?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
Penny rests a hand on her hip, pops it out, and cocks her head. “Really, Auti. Gonna play stupid?”
“You know what they say about assuming.” I laugh and both of them stare at me as if they don’t know. “It makes an ass out of you and me. Please tell me you both have heard that saying before.”
Penny rolls her eyes and Shelly laughs. “Yes, dippy. I’ve heard the saying. And you know what I meant.”
I ignore Penny and look up at Shelly. “Jonas?”
She nods slowly. “He’s a mess, Autumn. I’ve never seen him like this. Ever. Not sure what happened last week, and I don’t expect you to tell me. But please talk to him. Give him a chance. Give your relationship a chance.” I subtly nod. “You make him smile. Like really smile. And I miss seeing his smile.”
I miss seeing his smile, too.
I take in the arrangement. Unique and beautiful. A handful of soft pink roses. A vine of pale pink and white orchids. Small white flowers at the base. Light green and lavender succulent buds. Pulled together with curly willow and blue thistle. A blend of rustic and opulent.
Not too flashy. Not a typical floral arrangement. Perfect.
“Thank you, Shelly,” I whisper.
Out of nowhere, Shelly hugs me. “See you soon,” she says so only I hear her. Then, she releases me, pivots away, and walks out the door.
Penny tips her head toward the front door. “One of his friends?”
“Yeah. She was at the bowling alley last week.”
I pick up the arrangement, turn on my heel, and head back to my booth. Attached to the bouquet is another note, and I would prefer to read it without Penny hovering over my shoulder. Not like I won’t show it to her later, but I want to read it on my own first.
Leaning forward, I inhale the subtle perfume from the flowers. Understated and delicate, yet exemplary. I pluck the note from the plastic tong in the center and unfold it. Taking a deep breath, I scan the page and absorb each of his words.
Autumn,
There is something so classic about your beauty. You ravish me. Without doing anything extraordinary, you shine. Brighten the darkest night sky. Ignite a fire inside me. And without you, the fire has extinguished. My true north has vanished, and I’m wandering alone in the dark.
If you can find a place for me in your heart, I would love another chance. A chance to show you more than one person can love you. And when you’re ready, I would be honored to meet the little girl who holds your heart captive. Because if she is anything like her mom, I already know how I wil
l feel about her.
Please give me—us—another chance. I will do whatever, give whatever, you need. Time. Patience. As long as you are in my life. All I ask is that you call me. Talk to me. Let me back in.
Yours always,
Jonas
I read the letter again. And again. Then crush it against my chest and start crying. Reznor glances over the wall separating our booths, then over at Penny. Seconds later, Penny is in my booth and trying to snatch the letter from my arms. I fight her tooth and nail.
“If you won’t let me see the letter, then you better start talking. I’ve seen enough tears from you over the last week to last a lifetime,” Penny says, frustration lacing her tone.
“Pen, it isn’t bad. Quite the opposite, actually. So, stop mothering me.”
She extends her hand between us, flexing her fingers in a give-me motion. “If it isn’t bad, let me see it.”
“Can I have just this one to myself? Please.”
Tilting her head to the side, she gives me a sad smile. “I guess. But if he makes you cry again, I’m cutting his balls off.”
“Ouch,” Reznor says. “Little extreme, don’t you think, Pen?”
She shrugs. “Just telling it like it is.” Reznor shakes his head and continues working on the guy face down in his booth.
I fold the letter up and tuck it away in my shirt—close to my heart and where Penny can’t reach it easily. She harrumphs and leaves my booth. In a slight fog, I clean my workstation up and prep for the next person on my schedule.
Two more clients and then I am done for the day. Two more clients and I can leave work and call Jonas. Hear his voice again for the first time in a week. Although, with every note he has left me, I have read them with his voice in my head. Heard each and every word in his low baritone. Felt comfort with each letter. With the fact he was still nearby. Seeking me out.
The next three hours go by slower than any other time in my life. It didn’t help that both my clients had no idea what they wanted inked in their skin. But it didn’t shock me to find out they came in together. Eventually, the first decided on a rose. And although the second could have figured out her tattoo while number one was getting hers, it took her fifteen minutes past her session start time to realize she wanted the exact same thing. And it wasn’t as if they had never gotten a tattoo before. Hell, they had them everywhere.
Finally, I finish up the night. Clean my workspace faster than any previous shift. Shoulder my purse, cradle the bouquet in my arms, and bolt for the back door. Once alone in the confines of my car, I inhale the gentle bouquet perfume one more time before setting it on the passenger seat. Then I dig my phone from my purse and open up Jonas’s contact info.
The screen illuminates my face in the dark as my finger hovers over the call button. I suck in a deep breath and tap the screen.
Eighteen
Jonas
Shelly called me hours ago and said she delivered the flower arrangement and note to Autumn. I have been on pins and needles since. Yes, I realize she was working when the delivery arrived. But I really hoped I would have heard from her already.
Either Autumn has been crazy busy with work. Or she is avoiding me. Hopefully, it is the former.
Spartan noses my elbow and whimpers before running to the door which leads to the back yard. I ignore him the first two times. When he noses my elbow a third and barks at me for good measure, I rise from the couch, grab my phone off the coffee table, and head for the door.
As soon as I open the back door, Spartan bolts down the three short steps and races through the grass toward the back fence. His energy is off the charts and I wish I had a fraction of it.
“Ya freaking whacko,” I call after him.
Sitting on the lounger on the patio, I light the fire bowl and lean back. Eyes closed and head against the cushion, I absorb the world around me. The still night air—cool and crisp. Perfect for the second official day of winter. The soft hum of an airplane as it flies overhead toward Tampa. The flames flicker in the rock-filled fire bowl, a faint smell of propane floats through the air. Spartan trots nearby, his coat brushing against my elbow as he passes me to scavenge in another section of the yard.
I love this small slice of heaven I created. But it isn’t quite perfect. Not yet. And only one thing could make it perfect.
Autumn. And the echoes of young laughter and pitter-patter of small feet.
A wad of cotton clogs my throat and strips it dry as I daydream—well, night dream—of a future I hope happens. So strange, but I never imagined the future so in depth until Autumn. Sure, I wanted to land the woman of my dreams and build a life with her. But until Autumn, I never had vivid pictures in my head of the end result. Small Kodak moments captured in time, printed on matte photo paper, and wedged between glass and wood.
But I see it all so clearly now. See her beside me, for years to come.
My cell phone rings in my pocket and startles me from my fantasy. I bolt upright, fumble to get it out of my pocket and answer it just before it goes to voice mail.
A half second glance at the screen has me smiling from ear to ear. “Autumn?”
“Hi.” Her voice wispy and muted. I melt back into the lounger and close my eyes.
Just the soft resonance of her voice settles every anxiety I have endured over the last week. Every questionable minute where I wondered if she would give us another chance.
“Hi,” I say back. “How are you?”
As much as I don’t wish Autumn to feel any sort of anguish, I secretly hope the last week has been as equally challenging for her as it has been for me. Although I only flaunted my emotions the day after, they ate away at me the entire week. With each note I wrote, I took pause. Stared at the paper for hours with pen in hand. How do you express yourself with so few words? How do you not slip up and say the words you feel will scare someone away?
I loved writing her the notes and letters, but they weren’t so simple.
The drawing, on the other hand, was easy. Like extracting a strip of movie reel from my memory and scrawling it across paper with pencil. I could have drawn us together with my eyes closed. The subtle curves of Autumn’s body as she lay on the blanket, her back to my front. My arm around her waist. Her warmth heating every inch of me.
I swallow and shake off the real-life fantasy floating in my thoughts.
“Okay, I guess.” She says the words, tries to believe them, but the slight crack in her voice tells me she doesn’t. Pain pierces my chest and I pinch my eyes tightly as she continues. “Thank you. For the notes and the d-drawing” —she sniffles— “and the flowers. They’re all so beautiful.”
Her heartache bounces through the air and smacks me like a bullseye in the chest. Settles deep. Liquifies and sheathes the rapid pulsing organ between my lungs. I clench my hand into a fist and press it over the sensation robbing me of breath.
“You’re welcome,” I croak out. “Meant every word. Every line and smudge.”
On the other end, Autumn goes silent. The only indication the call hasn’t dropped is her occasional sniffle in my ear.
What is going through her head? Why is she so quiet? Is she battling what to do next? Where we go from here?
God, I hope she wants to try us again. Give us another chance. With her biggest skeleton out in the open, and me still fighting for her, she has to know where I stand. That I still want her. Want more with her. Want more of us.
She has been silently sniffling on the other end for minutes now. But I don’t break the silence. As many questions as I want to ask her, as much as I want to pour my heart out, I stay tight-lipped and give her however much time she needs. Time to formulate whatever it is she wants to say to me. Because I will wait as long as she needs me to.
“I miss you,” she whispers. Three simple words. But how they swallow me whole and hug me fiercely. “A lot.”
I inhale deeply, hold the air in my lungs for one, two, three before exhaling. Opening my eyes, I stare up at the inky ni
ght sky and land on the brightest star. Hold it in my sight and watch it brighten and dim as if pulsing.
“Me too. So damn much.”
During the last week, Spartan has even grown frustrated with my temperament. Since he sees every side of me, he has sat grumpy beside me on the couch. Curled up with me at night. Groaned when I didn’t want to throw his ball in the back yard. And licked my face when I spent too much time in bed or on the couch.
“Jonas…” My name leaves her lips as a plea.
My pulse kicks into fifth gear. “Yes?”
“I…” she starts, then pauses briefly. I don’t dare interrupt her silence. Don’t push her to say the words waiting in limbo. When she speaks again, it’s not what I expect. “I’m sorry.”
Why is she apologizing? If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me. I was the one who misconstrued things. Got frustrated with her evasion and lost my cool. I was in the wrong. She was merely protecting her daughter. She has every right to protect her daughter.
“Autumn, please don’t apologize. It should be me saying sorry, not you.”
“Maybe we were both in the wrong. I could have been more honest about the call when you asked. But I was scared. It still scares me.”
“Will you tell me why? Help me understand.”
She remains silent for a beat, then sniffles again. “Jonas, I haven’t dated anyone since Clementine’s father.”
Clementine. How charming and sweet and totally Autumn. I wonder if Clementine is anything like her mother? Beautiful, charming, and someone I always want close. If so, consider me double screwed.
Fine Line (Inked Duet #1) Page 14
